|I walk but not alone... (standard:Flash, 1514 words)|
|Author: Indrani Bhattacharyya||Added: Nov 10 2011||Views/Reads: 2366/1364||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|its a flash fiction reflecting my own philosophy..|
‘So you are ‘the writer'?', assuming the question directed towards me with this heavily accented tone, I made a little upward movement of my head from the poster where I put my soul into at that moment, to identify the inquisitive face . I couldn't though; he was a total stranger, a pretty stout man of average height, most probably in his mid sixties and owner of a pair of unusually bright eyes. With a faint smile, I gave a small affirmative nod. Considering some other time, I would have been really happy to welcome him on board to discuss some writing stuffs, truly speaking I would consider myself really fortunate to have a tête à tête with one of the readers, an opportunity I don't get to have every day. Most of my interactions with the readers get restricted through mails and facebook. But today is a different day. There was an unexpected deadline waiting which left me in an out and out screwed up state. ‘I have read few of your stories - they aren't bad you know, actually some of them are quite good, I thought you must be a little more older to write them than what I see now' was the next set of sentence thrown at me with a mischievous crackle . I thanked him politely and tried to concentrate on my poster for the 100th time. ‘So when's the next one coming up, I don't think you write very often', he seemed unstoppable. To give myself some momentary relief I had to silence his whine. ‘thanks a lot for being so eager to read my next, I would surely come up with something as soon as possible, meanwhile you can Google to find some of my old writings, else get me your email id, I will send some links'- was the best I could said. My attempt was in vein when he replied ‘That's exactly not the answer I'm looking for my dear, all I want to say is you should write more, much more as that's the only way to sharpen your already existing potential'. I could feel, in spite of trying best, my patience level was slowly exceeding the threshold limit, an agitated me answered back ‘honestly sir, thank you very much for your concern but I write just for passion, I can afford to spend only certain amount of time for writing, it's not something I can pursue on a fulltime basis, at least not right now'. ‘Umm I see', a little frown was clearly visible on his face. ‘Ok tell me what you do you actually', he asked sincerely. ‘I am currently doing PhD in Biophysics' was the shortest feedback I could come up with. ‘Ohh! Sounds great, so you do PhD for a living'?? I was absolutely sure that I didn't miss his deep sarcasm this time. ‘Enough is enough. I had entertained this man for long, it was time to be a bit rude. Clenching my teeth, I pulled back my chair to face him, looking straight through his eyes, I wanted to counter his mocking remark without being much bitter. ‘look sir, let me put it in this way, I am afraid I may not sound much gracious but you can't do science for living, you can only dedicate yourself towards it if you have love for the subject, one needs to have much stronger emotions associated with than just making a mere living out of doing research'. ‘You mean passion'? He chuckled. ‘well-yeah, you need to be passionate enough even to think of pursuing science for rest for your life' was all could I fumbled as I was superficially sensing where this discussion would lead next. I was wrong. Little did I realize this conversation would change my attitude towards life. ‘That means, my dear, you are passionate about both science and writing, may be the intensity differs, right'?! My mouth fell open at this too direct and straight forward inference but I had to keep quiet as the grave was dug by me. ‘See if it's all about passion, why don't you mix them together'? - He asked me innocently. ‘Mix what'? I got puzzled to the core. ‘Write while you do science, think of science once you write', he told gently. ‘That's impossible', the protest came almost instantaneously from my side. ‘Have you ever seen any painter varnishing the canvas? All the colors are kept separately in a paint box, while the artist carefully or carelessly makes a concoction together and his creations gradually become alive'-for the first time I noticed his previous not-so-serious intonation had changed completely and got filled with a rich sense of sympathy. But I didn't have farthest clue of what this man was upto and why he was citing such out of the blue example. Completely overlooking my dumbest ever look, he continued,' why are you holding back yourself? Come out of that self created shell, shed out those inhibitions and explore the world'! A sudden chill ran down my spine. It didn't bother me anymore that I had a deadly deadline to meet and the half done poster was lying ahead on the floor. ‘Who is he? Why is he saying all these? Is he a thought reader?' my brain was being torn apart with a series of questions for which I had no answer. By that time a soothing smile reached his twinkling eyes and the sparkle was evident when he spoke ‘why don't you infuse all your emotions together and let it flow through your pen. Isn't that something you have always wanted to do'? ‘Well, yes, I want to live through my words'; I was almost inaudible Click here to read the rest of this story (47 more lines)
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